


From a World Away

by 2amEuphoria



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Brightwell, COVID-19, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Conditions, Other, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25428112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2amEuphoria/pseuds/2amEuphoria
Summary: 3 days they’ve been here. Almost 72 hours. Four sterile walls and a bathroom.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	From a World Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhumpTown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/gifts).



> Content warning for COVID-19 and respiratory distress. I get that this is sensitive for a lot of us right now, so please, don’t read if you think this will be upsetting to you.
> 
> For WhumpTown, a kickass supporter and encourager of everything I upload to this website.

“Momma- Mm- Momma-”

“I’m here. Don't talk, love; I’m here,” Dani shushes, her hands grasping for a place where she’ll do more good than harm. 

Her daughter’s skin is scorching, red with effort and fever, every ounce of strength dedicated to her lungs. A hand over Alea’s shoulder, her forehead, her thigh bucks back in resistance, and Dani’s eyes prick with tears at the thought of accidentally holding her baby’s coughs in. So she opts for one of the four-year-old’s pigtails, needling her fingers through Alea’s ringlets, while her other hand covers the emotion twisting her mouth.

“Those are great coughs, sweetie. Don’t be scared.”

Alea tries to force her demons out. Dani tries to hold hers in.

__________

3 days they’ve been here. 72 hours. Four sterile walls and a bathroom.

When the news said that children are usually asymptomatic, or otherwise don’t get it, Dani had breathed a sigh of relief. Their wiggly, couch-climbing daughter, who was all too happy to be home from daycare and spending time with her “fur sister” (as they lovingly referred to AFIS, their rescue greyhound, as), would be safe. 

She and Malcolm had switched off going to the precinct on a reduced schedule, often in JT’s stead so he could stay home with his twin girls when Tally was called into work at Mount Sinai West. They stripped the second they got in the door, exchanging a trash bag with work clothes for a towel to hop in the shower. Everyone’s hands were rubbed raw from hand sanitizer and soap- even AFIS had her paws washed when they came inside from a walk. Groceries were delivered, wiped down thoroughly before going in the fridge or pantry. Jessica had revealed a stockpile of masks that she’d kept in her house that were then passed out between her children (“you can judge me for this, or you can stay safe,” she’d sniped).

They took every precaution. Yet “Momma, I don’t feel s’good” and a weak cough pitter-pattered out into the hallway anyway, 5 days ago.

They switched off caring for her in shifts. Alternations between Tylenol and ibuprofen keeping track of the time. Dani suggested they wear masks whenever they were in Alea’s room with her, but Malcolm’s fear of their daughter being frightened of Momma and Daddy’s hidden faces shot that idea dead before it touched ground. Emergen-C and hope had to sustain them.

On the second day, Gil pleaded with Malcolm to come in and review a file in person at the precinct. They’d take extra precautions and make sure he didn’t have a temperature, so he’d agreed, unaware that three hours later, Alea would wake up with a fever of 102. That Dani would leave him a pained voicemail on his phone while she drove them to the hospital. That an hour after their daughter was admitted, Dani was told that Alea would be put in isolation while the tests were being processed. That Dani could leave the room if she wanted, but wouldn’t be able to come back. 

Their daughter cries when she wakes up to find her night light’s gone out. When they go on vacation without AFIS for longer than a day. She’d already sobbed into her mother’s chest through the nasal swabs and sputum sample, the IVs and nasal cannula fitting. Dani could only hold Alea’s foot during the chest x-ray and CT scan, and those procedures alone were a traumatic enough separation for them both.

“I’m not leaving her,” Dani had whispered to the critical care team.

So 3 days they’d been here. 73 hours now. Four sterile walls, a bathroom, and only each other to hold.

__________

 _“How are you doing?”_ Pings a text from Malcolm.

_“O2 level’s still pretty high. Still only managing a cup of yogurt/a few small sips of water for meals. Wants to see you and Affy.”_

_“I know how Alea’s doing, sweetheart. I want to know how_ you _are.”_

Everything has taken strength.

For Alea, it’s been sitting up in bed. Being picked up by Dani to use the bathroom. One or two-word answers to questions from the nurses.

For Dani, it’s been soothing Alea through visits from the care team. Taking the speech-language pathologist’s advice and praising her for the strength of her coughs, even if the retractions of the muscles between Alea’s ribs and her scarlet face make Dani bite back sobs pooling in her throat. Waiting until she’s certain, positive that her daughter’s asleep, to crawl over to the only corner of the room without wires and outlets and cry into her knees.

 _“Oh,”_ she types back, passing her sleeve under her nose. She looks over her shoulder at the frail, sinking shape of her baby, _their baby,_ sinking into the white hospital sheets as she wheezes through her sleep. 

_“Can I be selfish for a sec?”_ Dani regrets the message the second it sends.

_“...?”_

_“Can I sit on the bathroom floor here and call you? Just to hear your voice. I’ll leave the door ajar so I can still see and hear her. I just miss you.”_ She bites her tongue, shields her weeping eyes. She’s faltering, failing as a parent and she knows it. But they’ve only spoken on the phone once since Alea was admitted, and the excitement of hearing Daddy’s voice triggered a coughing fit so violent that 3 nurses had to come in, and, well, that ended that.

_“That’s not selfish. And of course. I want to hear your voice too.”_

The hospital socks they’d given her make a soft sucking sound as she crosses the linoleum. 

_“I’m starting to cry,”_ she warns.

_“That’s alright. I’ll answer whenever you’re ready, no matter what state you’re in.”_

The hum of the monitors might drown out the choked, broken gasps as Dani tries to talk to him. Or so she hopes.

__________

Alea’s COVID-19 positive. And now they know that Dani’s negative.

“Wha’ ‘bout Daddy?” Alea squeaks out, watery ocean eyes peering up at the doctor.

“Can my husband get tested?” Dani asks, squeezing Alea’s hand. “He’s been home from work since I brought her in, but… Just in case. So the rest of our team knows. Our Lieutenant- ‘Grampa’- is in his 50s, and one of our other coworkers has a wife and kids. They deserve to know.”

“I’ll check the amount of available tests we have,” the PICU doctor wrings her gloved hands together. She’s older, the wife of a fire chief, with two teenage boys at home and a hefty load of empathy for their situation. Her eyes drop to Alea, and her face morphs from worried to gentle. “I’ll let you know what we can do for Daddy by the end of the day.”

“‘Kay.” Dani sees Malcolm’s drooping lower lip and hopeless expression on their four year old, and it takes a sanitary shoulder rub from the doctor to keep her from falling apart.

__________

Daddy’s being tested today. In the ED on the bottom floor, but still in the same hospital. The closest they’ve been in 6 days. Alea manages half a popsicle during a follow-up swallowing eval, and Dani knows that the good news, more than anything, is pulling her through. Pulling them _both_ through.

Malcolm sends them a video of AFIS sleeping just before he leaves to get in the town car. The camera zoomed in on her nose while he stacks treats on her brindle and white muzzle, her forehead, and splayed front paws, just under the greyhound’s jowls. They can hear Malcolm laughing softly, half to keep AFIS from waking up, half to keep Alea from busting out into a giggle fit. Nothing gets their girl going like Malcolm’s uncontrollable wheeze-laughter.

“See you soon, AFIS. Enjoy your snackies,” they hear Malcolm coo as he picks his phone off the floor, and the video ends.

“I wanted to see Daddy too,” Alea huffs.

Dani presses a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, hiding her shared expression. “He’ll be just below us downstairs. That’s closer than a video from miles away at home. Isn’t that so much better?”

“Maybe.” Her heart falls when Alea’s eyes flutter closed in resignation. 

She decides to be honest: “I miss him too, AMBs,” she whispers against Alea’s curls. “You’re not alone.”

With the last of her second wind of energy, Alea flips over in the bed they share to mold herself against Dani’s chest, threading her arms around her mother’s waist. The same way Malcolm would hold Dani at night. The same way Alea would find them when she’d come to sneak in their bed. 

Alea’s breaths become slower; the oxygen machine whirs on to support her in her sleep. The tear tracks from Dani’s cheeks onto Alea’s hairline will dry long before she wakes up.

Her phone, still in her shaking palm, vibrates. _“I’m here,”_ Malcolm announces.

Immediately, he follows up: _“Well, in the ED waiting room. Not on your floor. Though I wish I was.”_

With the one free limb she has and an awkward camera angle from the pillows, Dani snaps a picture of her and Alea, with Alea’s arms tight around her.

 _“No,”_ she types back. _“You’re here. Thanks for visiting.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to _Skinny Love_ by Bon Iver about 5000 times without a dry eye while writing this, so I guess you could say that’s the “soundtrack” to this one.


End file.
